


you were my new dream

by lovecamedown



Series: i'm where i'm meant to be [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, Bucky Begins Recovery, Bucky's Recovery, Codependency, Friends to Lovers, Healthy Coping Mechanisms, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Hospitals, Mention of period-typical homophobia, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, PTSD, Pining, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Scars, Steve is v supportive and wonderful, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, supportive Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 13:32:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12169872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovecamedown/pseuds/lovecamedown
Summary: Maybe Steve means to randomly blurt out “I’m in love with Bucky” during a conversation that had absolutely nothing to do with either being in love or Bucky. Maybe he doesn’t.But the fact is: he just did./prequel to 'and you were mine'. bucky and steve are in love. they just haven't told each other yet. and, with bucky in recovery and then living with steve, it's complicated.but maybe it doesn't have to be.





	you were my new dream

**Author's Note:**

> helloooo! this is a prequel to my fic 'and you were mine'. and because it's a prequel, you don't have to have read that before you read this :) please be sure to read the warnings in the tags before you read, and let me know if you need anything else tagging! <3

Maybe Steve means to randomly blurt out “I’m in love with Bucky” during a conversation that had absolutely nothing to do with either being in love or Bucky. Maybe he doesn’t.

But the fact is: he just did.

Sam looks a little confused by the sudden change of topic, but it doesn’t seem to faze him much. “You’re what?”

“I’m…in love with Bucky.” Steve says, less urgency in his voice now; more sincerity.

“Okay,” Sam says, and Steve wants to hug him because he’s never fazed in the slightest by things like this. _Hey, Sam, I kinda need you to save my life_? Sure. _Hey, Sam, I know you’re kind of flying right now but I need you to go to the store and grab me some milk when you’re done_? Okay. _Hey, Sam, I’m absolutely head over heels in love with the guy I’ve known since I was a kid who’s just come out of cryo and is kind of a mess and kind of needs me and I kind of need him_? Just a regular Tuesday night.

Steve sighs, running a hand over his face. “I’m…I don’t know why I said that.”

“Well, you obviously needed to get it off your chest,” Sam says, reaching to grab a slice of garlic bread. He raises an eyebrow a little. “What’s going on?”

Steve sighs again and takes a sip of his water. “Bucky is back. Obviously. You know that.”

“Right,” Sam nods, “they’ve figured out a way to help him.”

“Yeah. And he’s…staying in the hospital for a little while during the initial few weeks. Months, probably.”

“Okay.”

“And I called him this morning, to make sure he was okay and he’s okay with the plan. He is. I mean, he’s not _okay_ , but he’s okay with the plan.”

“Right.”

Steve can tell that Sam’s just waiting for him to cut to the chase, but he’s being patient about it, and Steve is eternally grateful.

“He’s…he’s awake. He’s back. He’s _back_.”

“Yeah,” Sam nods, watching Steve carefully.

Steve’s running his hand through his hair as he just stares at the table, tracing the fingers of his spare hand over the patterns in the wood. Sam places his knife and fork together on his plate, signalling that he’s done. Steve does the same, trying to come up with words to express what he’s thinking right now.

“I’m in love with him,” Steve says, and his voice is so much quieter now, almost distant. “I’ve always been in love with him. I think.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I—I guess I never really…thought of it that way. Especially back when we were young, it was…well, you know, back then boys weren’t supposed to think of other boys that way. I was always told I would end up with a woman. So I guess I just never thought about Bucky in that way. Not enough. I didn't let myself think about it.”

“But now…?”

“Yeah,” Steve lets out a noise that’s a half-breath, half-laugh. “ _Now_.”

“Are you gonna tell him?” Sam asks, bringing up his glass to take a sip of water.

“I…don’t know. Not yet.”

“What made you realise it?”

Steve shrugs and shakes his head, still staring down at the table, eyes not really focusing on anything in particular.

“It wasn’t…one moment,” Steve says, and he wants to try and make this sound as little like some overly cheesy speech from a movie as possible. (He’s not sure how successful that’s going to be, though, considering the fact that half the reason he realised his feelings was because he started thinking things towards Bucky that sounded like they’d come from a movie.) He takes a breath, and then continues, “I guess…it started when I found him again? Like…again, again. Not when I saw him that first time on the bridge, I…it was just after I saw him again in Bucharest. Before we got arrested. I saw him, and I saw the _real_ him underneath all the fear and stuff. I saw him, I…I can’t explain it.”

Sam chuckles softly. “I think I’m understanding what you’re trying to say.”

“And then over that few days, I guess I didn’t really have time to think about it. All I knew was that I had to stand by him, I had to protect him and make sure he knew he wasn’t alone.”

“And you did that,” Sam assures gently.

It makes a smile twitch at the corners of Steve’s lips. It’s quickly erased, though, when he remembers the next part of the story. “And then…he decided to go back under again. And it was his choice, and I know why he made that choice. But watching him…watching him get frozen like that, thinking about all he went through…,” Steve stops himself before things get a bit _too_ emotional. “And I walked away from that place, knowing that Bucky was safe, that T’Challa would protect him, but it still felt…wrong. To leave him. Even if I’d stayed, he wouldn’t have known I was there. But it felt wrong. I wanted to be with him. And I guess, on the way back here, I just…started realising that I don’t feel for anyone else the way I feel for Bucky,” he finally wraps up, looking down at his plate and fiddling with the end of his fork. He shrugs one shoulder. And then, his voice quieter, “I never have.”

Sam is silent. A moment passes, and Steve looks up without moving his head. Sam’s just got a thoughtful look on his face, and maybe there’s a smile twitching at his lips behind it.

“What?” Steve asks, smirking. “What are you trying not to smile about?”

“I just…,” Sam shakes his head, and lets out a little laugh, like he can’t help it. “I wish I’d known. I would’ve understood…more.”

“Man, _I_ didn’t even know.”

He chuckles again. “I guess that’s true.”

There’s a beat of silence. Steve thinks about Bucky; thinks about him alone there in his hospital room, or in therapy, or wherever he is right now. Steve's heart aches. He feels like he should be with him.

Steve sighs. “What should I do?”

“I think,” Sam starts, “you should give him time. Some time to adjust. He’s only just, you know, back in your life for good. I mean, it’s up to you, obviously, but I just think that what he needs right now is a friend. A best friend—you. You know?”

Steve nods in agreement. “Yeah. I know.” And then, “do you think I should _ever_ tell him?”

“Well, yeah, because he might feel the same way. You never know.”

“But what if he _doesn’t_?”

Sam chuckles, standing up and taking their plates over to the dishwasher. “Now you just sound like a lovesick teenager.”

Steve laughs at that. “Yeah, well, that’s kinda what I feel like. Minus the teenager part. I’m way past that age.”

“Are we talking physically, mentally or literally, here? I feel like the first two could be debatable.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Seriously, though. I think you should tell him, eventually. He deserves your honesty.

“Yeah,” Steve nods, “he does.”

* * *

Steve goes to visit Bucky the next morning. He’s in his room, and when Steve knocks, Bucky’s voice comes from the other side of the door, saying to come in.

He does. And when Bucky looks up from his place in the armchair by the window, he grins at Steve.

“Hey,” Steve smiles. “I brought strawberry milkshake. Are you okay to drink that?”

Bucky shrugs, putting down his book. “I guess we’ll find out.”

Steve smiles, handing him the bottle and then leaning against the wall beside Bucky’s seat. He doesn’t want to sit in the chair beside him, in case he doesn't want him to; maybe it'll feel like therapy, or whatever. He knows from experience how mind-numbing that can be after a while.

“How you doing today?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods after taking a sip of milkshake. “I’m okay. Getting by. _Fuck_ , this milkshake is delicious.”

Chuckling, Steve runs a hand through his hair. “I thought you’d like it.”

Bucky glances up at him, then gestures to the other seat. “You can sit down, you know.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, I was just thinking of making you stand there the whole time you’re here.” He deadpans.

Steve chuckles, putting his bag down on the floor and then sitting beside him, running his hands over his jeans. “So,” he says, “what’s it like in here?”

Bucky thinks over the question for the moment, fiddling with the lid from the milkshake bottle. For a moment, Steve worries that Bucky doesn’t want to talk about it – who could blame him? – but then Bucky shrugs a shoulder, and he doesn’t look too annoyed by Steve’s question.

“It’s safe,” he says. “For me, and, well, for everyone else.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, a hint of sadness behind his voice. “Is, um…is the therapy okay? It’s not too intense?”

“It’s intense,” Bucky runs a hand through his hair, and Steve tries not to be too distracted by the motion. “But it’s okay. It’s…what I need, I guess.”

“Are you eating okay? Do you need anything? I can bring you anything you need.”

“Unless it’s a sharp object, or something. Not allowed those in here.” Bucky sounds like he’s trying to make a dark joke, and Steve smirks, because that’s so him.

“Yeah, I kinda figured.”

“How are you?” Bucky asks and, strangely, the question takes Steve by surprise. It feels like so long since he’s heard those words from Bucky’s lips.

“Oh, me? I’m…I’m okay. Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Back at the regular stuff? No more running from governments?”

Steve chuckles. “For now, no.”

“For now? Has there been more than one running from the government incidents since 1945?”

“Kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus, Steve, what trouble have you gotten yourself in to?”

Steve laughs, his chest swelling with something warm and fond. It’s a mix of nostalgia and, well, _love_ , Steve thinks. This is the kind of banter they always used to have. Before things got…dark.

He realises he hasn’t said anything in at least a minute – he’s just been staring at Bucky, smiling softly – and immediately clears his throat and looks away.

“What?” Bucky asks.

“Nothing, I—” he isn’t sure where that sentence was going to go. “It’s nothing. Hey, I, uh, I brought a board game for us to play. You up for it?”

Bucky smiles, and although Steve can feel his anxiety coming off him in waves, it’s still a genuine smile. Steve wants to reach out and touch his face, run his hands through his hair, tell him that he is so loved.

“Bring it on,” Bucky says, and Steve’s grin is ridiculously large.

* * *

Steve visits at least once a day for a few days, always bringing in new games for them to play, or new drinks or foods that are permitted by the hospital.

On the sixth day, Steve walks through to the main desk in the afternoon and signs himself in. The nurses are giving him sideways glances for a moment until one eventually comes up to him, a nervous look in her eyes.

Steve immediately grows concerned.

“Your friend has had a rough morning,” she says carefully, “he…might not be entirely present when you go in.”

Steve's heart is immediately in his throat. “Am I, um—still okay to go see him?”

“Mr. Stark said seeing you calms your friend, sometimes, so he said to let you in.”

“Okay.”

“If you need anything, just call us. We’ll be right in.”

His expression darkens, because he knows what they’re thinking; what they think might happen. What they think Bucky could do. Steve clenches his jaw. He wishes people would trust Bucky more than this. “Okay,” Steve says again, and then, just before he walks off, “thank you, ma’am.”

 

He knocks on Bucky’s door. There’s no answer, so he tries again, but still he hears nothing. Gently, he pushes the handle down and the door opens a little way so Steve can stick his head around it. He sees Bucky sitting up on the bed, back against the headboard, knees up at his chest with his arms resting on them. His head is hanging low.

“Buck?” Steve says gently, stepping in fully now. Bucky only glances at him in acknowledgement. “Hey, it’s me, it’s Steve.” He closes the door behind him and carefully steps closer, slowly placing the bag down on the floor. “The nurses say you had a bad day,” he says, “can I sit?”

Bucky nods without looking at Steve.

He sits in the chair beside Bucky’s bed and watches him, heart wrenching in his chest because he wants to reach out and take all of Bucky’s pain away. Wants to wrap his arms around him. Touch him. Comfort him. Even though that’s probably the absolute worst thing he could do right now.

“Hey, do you wanna talk about it?”

Bucky just shakes his head, lifting his new metal arm up to run it through his hair.

“Okay, that’s okay,” Steve assures him, “you don’t have to. I, um, brought a game, but I suppose you’re not up for playing today?”

He doesn’t respond. Steve takes a moment to take in the little bit of Bucky’s face that he can see behind the curtain of his dark hair, and he looks so sad, so broken. Steve doesn’t know what happened today, but he knows Bucky’s facial expressions and his body language. They’re the same even after all this time. This is Bucky’s, _I’m mad at myself; so mad I could hurt myself_ , position. Or, at least, that’s the vibe Steve’s getting.

He lets himself relax a little, though, at the thought that Bucky is in this place to keep him safe, and he’s going to be okay here.

“Okay,” Steve says, more to himself than Bucky, and then, “I brought a book? I could read to you, if you like. It’s…a book I really love. It’s not too intense, or anything.… Would you like that?”

Bucky nods, bringing up a hand to wipe at his cheeks. Steve realises that Bucky is crying. He kicks himself that he didn’t notice that before.

“Okay,” he says softly, reaching in to his bag to grab the book. “Let me know if you want me to, like, shut up.”

And he could swear he hears Bucky release a tiny little laugh, but it might just be wishful thinking.

By the end of the second chapter, Bucky has let one of his legs come down on to the mattress. It’s the leg closest to Steve, opening up his body language a little, and Steve tries not to grin too widely. He’s getting through to him. He’s _helping_.

And after six chapters, Steve’s voice gets a little raspy and dry, and Bucky wordlessly hands him the bottle that sits by his bed so Steve can take a sip. Steve smiles gratefully and accepts it, offering a small “thanks”. Just as he’s about to start reading again, Bucky’s right hand moves down on to the edge of the mattress. His fingers are twitching, like he wants to reach out and touch Steve.

Steve doesn’t mention it; just carries on reading, keeping one eye on Bucky's hand at all times, hoping against hope that Bucky will reach out and take his.

He does, eventually.

It makes Steve’s heart leap in his chest, which he tries not to let show in his voice as he reads. He doesn’t squeeze it or anything, in case it makes things worse for Bucky, but he _does_ read the rest of the chapter with a smile on his face. How could he not?

 

And, when Steve leaves a few hours later, Bucky still isn’t really talking, but just as Steve is about to get up, Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand.

“Thank you,” Bucky says, not looking up or saying anything else.

Steve just smiles. He’s not entirely sure what he’s being thanked for, honestly, but he smiles nonetheless.

“Anytime, Buck.”

And he means it. Anytime, anything, anywhere. And he thinks Bucky knows that he means it, too.

 

 

The bad days keep coming, and Steve is beyond worried. The nurses and Bucky’s therapist told Steve that because of the intensity of Bucky’s trauma, and trying to re-train his brain, it’s likely to get worse before it gets better. It’s getting worse because Bucky is finally adjusting to not being under anyone else’s control, and he’s not really sure what to do with his freedom and his mind, now that he’s recovering.

Steve understands. He knows it’s normal, and he shouldn’t worry that Bucky will never get better. But he can’t help but stay up at night, thinking of Bucky, wondering if he feels alone or cold or scared.

The nurses have told him that Steve’s visits to Bucky help, even if he just sits by his bedside while Bucky drifts in and out of light sleep. Sometimes Bucky’s hand will reach out to Steve before he closes his eyes, and Steve takes it straight away without saying anything.

When Steve isn’t at the hospital, he’s been spending a lot of time at Sam’s place to try and distract himself. Sam is excellent at calm and rational advice, too, so Steve feels so much calmer and stable when he’s not on his own in his apartment, nothing to do and no one to talk to.

One day, when Steve goes in and finds Bucky just lying there, his back to Steve’s usual chair, Steve’s heart actually hurts in his chest. He goes in anyway, of course.

“Hey, Buck,” he says softly. “Are you awake?”

Bucky nods. Steve sits in his chair and pulls out his book.

“Shall I just read to myself today? I don’t have to leave, but I can still be here silently.”

Bucky nods again, and his long hair musses up a little at the back of his neck where it’s rubbing against the pillows. Steve pulls his lips together, wanting so badly to reach out and stroke his hand over Bucky’s hair; try to comfort him with the touch.

He looks down at his book to distract himself and clears his throat. “Okay. I’ll be right here, just reading. Okay?”

Another silent nod.

Steve reads for a while, keeping an eye on Bucky always, even though he’s sure Bucky thinks he’s not looking. He’s not sure if Bucky has fallen asleep or not, but he doesn’t want to get up to check; the chair is far too squeaky, and it’ll wake him up.

Another few minutes pass. When Bucky thinks Steve isn’t looking – Steve is always looking, but he pretends to keep himself to himself – he subtly moves his metal arm underneath the covers, clearly trying to make it look like he’s doing it in his sleep.

Steve frowns, watching for a moment. The metal of his fingers comes up to touch the skin of his right arm, and at first, Steve thinks that maybe he’s scratching an itch. He watches for a moment, making sure he’s not trying to do what Steve thinks he’s doing.  
Metal fingers begin pinching at the soft skin of his forearm, and Steve’s heart begins to race. He’s hurting himself. He’s _hurting himself_. He should get a nurse, but first, he just wants to _try_.

There are bruises forming already.

“Hey, Bucky,” he says softly, and Bucky’s hand freezes against his skin, now aware that Steve is watching. “Bucky, I know what you’re doing, and I—”

“It’s nothing.” Bucky murmurs, bringing his arm down to lay under the sheets.

“It’s not nothing,” Steve insists. He’s not sure what the right thing to do here is. This is a way Bucky copes, and it doesn’t feel right to tell him off for it. But he’s also _hurt_ , and this isn't healthy, and he can’t just stand for that.

“I can’t stop,” Bucky admits, “I can’t—I can’t stop…I can’t stop feeling the way I feel, and this just…makes me feel better…,”

“Buck,” Steve says, voice so gentle. He wishes Bucky would turn around to look at him. “It’s okay. I understand.”

“It’s not okay,” Bucky says through gritted teeth. “I’m just crazy.”

Steve sighs lightly. “Buck, I need you to listen to me, okay?” He isn’t touching Bucky, although he wants to. Bucky rolls on to his back, holding the inside of his metal elbow against his eyes so Steve can’t see his tears. (It doesn’t work; Steve can see them clear as day as they fall down on to his neck.)

“I know you—I know this is a coping method, and I get that, okay?” Steve continues, “And I know it feels like you can’t stop. I know that. But—you _can_ stop, Bucky, without the nurses here needing to sedate you…,” he says it without thinking (even though it’s the truth; that could be what will happen if they know he’s been harming himself) and sees Bucky tense.

“Sedation?” Bucky asks, his arm coming off his face so his wide eyes can stare in to Steve’s. “No, I—sedation? No, no, no…,”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve soothes. “Whatever happens here, it’s not going to be what happened back then. The nurses only want to help you. You’re safe, you’re okay, you’re in control of what happens to you. I’m never gonna let anyone hurt you ever again.” Bucky isn’t looking at him. “It’s okay, Bucky, you can get control another way. You can do this.”

Bucky takes a deep breath. Steve watches the slow rise and fall of his chest, and breathes along with him. Tentatively, Bucky puts his flesh arm back down on the bed, and Steve wants to brush his fingers over the bruises and somehow get them to fade away. “Can I hold your hand?” He asks instead.

Bucky nods. “Yeah.”

So he does. He holds Bucky’s hand so carefully, smoothing his thumb over his knuckles.

“What are some coping methods you’ve been working on in therapy?” Steve asks after a moment.

Buck shrugs weakly. “Um…this thing that grounds me, where I, um…count down with senses. I have to pick out five things I can see, four things I can touch, three things I can…,” he thinks for a moment, “yeah, that’s right, three things I can feel, two things I can hear and one thing I can smell. I know it’s long winded, but it’s.… That’s—sometimes it works well.”

“Okay,” Steve says calmly, “let’s do that then?”

Bucky nods wordlessly.

Steve rubs his thumb over each of Bucky’s fingers in turn. “Okay,” he says again. “What can you see?”

“Uh…,” Bucky looks around. Steve realises Bucky's voice is shaking a little, and he looks at the tear streaks on Bucky’s cheeks and wants to wipe them away. “I can see the light on the roof. The posts on my bed. The trees out the window…,” his eyes come around to the other side of the room, the side Steve’s on, and he looks around. “I can see your bag over in the corner,” he says, then his gaze shifts to Steve’s, meeting his eyes. “I can see your eyes.”

“Okay, that’s good,” Steve encourages, trying not to get too lost in their eye contact. Bucky pulls his gaze away, and Steve clears his throat. “What’s next?”

“Four things I can touch,” Bucky says. He sounds reluctant but determined to do this; determined to use healthy mechanisms as much as he possibly can. Steve is so proud of him.  
Bucky continues a moment later. “I can touch the mattress,” he says. “I can touch the metal on the side of my bed, the wood of my night stand, and the fabric of my shirt.”

Steve squeezes his hand. “You’re doing good.” He’s noticing Bucky’s voice sounds a little steadier now, and his breathing has evened out. This is helping.

“Okay, um…three things I can feel,” he sighs as he thinks. His thumb twitches under Steve’s hand, and Steve smiles, because he can definitely feel him there. “I can feel the blankets over my legs. My head sinking a little in to my pillow. And…,” his hand twitches in Steve’s again, and then he squeezes a little, a small smile playing on his lips as he stares up at the ceiling. “…And your pulse.”

Steve smiles. “I can feel yours, too.”

“It’s comforting,” Bucky says, almost absently, like he’s talking to himself. It makes Steve smile. He was thinking the same thing.

“Okay, two things you can hear.”

“Um…I can hear the phone ringing down the hall. And your breathing.”

“Sorry, am I breathing loudly?” He suddenly feels self conscious, because yeah, his breathing does sometimes get a little heavier when he’s around Bucky. He tries to control it, but it’s something he can’t really help.…

Bucky grins, letting out a little laugh, and Steve’s heart soars. “Not as loudly as you used to breathe. With your asthma.”

“Oh,” Steve chuckles, “yeah. That wasn’t fun.”

“No, it wasn't. I remember walking up to my apartment once and we were going up the stairs, and your asthma was _so_ bad, but you refused to stop, even after I told you a _lot_ of times to just take a break. When we eventually got inside you had an asthma attack, and I was worried but after if was over you were like, ‘don’t you dare say I told you so’.”

“Yeah, and you did say ‘I told you so’,” Steve teases, and it makes Bucky laugh again, and it’s a sound Steve wants to hear forever.

“Yeah, that’s because you deserved it.”

“Sure it wasn’t just because you were being a jerk?”

“Nope,” Bucky pops the ‘p’ at the end of the word. “Definitely not.”

Steve is laughing softly, partly because of the memory, but mostly because, in the midst of everything going on, the aftermath of everything that’s happened, they can still banter like this. Still laugh together, still tease each other. It’s moments like these that help Steve remember what exactly he’s fighting for.

“Don’t forget the last one,” Steve says after a moment.

Bucky looks at him for the first time in a while and frowns. “The last what?”

“The last one in your count-down list. One thing you can smell.”

“Oh,” he looks as though he had forgotten all about ten minutes ago until this sentence, and his face looks so much lighter than it did when Steve had first seen him hurting himself. “I forgot we were doing that.”

“Good,” Steve says, “it means it was working.”

“One thing I can smell,” Bucky says thoughtfully, breathing in deeply, concentration on his brow. After a moment, his head turns to look at Steve, and there’s a soft smirk on his face. “I can smell your aftershave.”

“Oh, yeah, I—I shaved before I came out.”

“You do look very pristine.”

Steve chuckles. “Why, thank you,” he teases.

Bucky’s grin gently fades in to a fond little smile. He’s looking in to Steve’s eyes, his gaze so soft, and he squeezes his hand.

“Thank you,” Bucky whispers, gaze still locked on Steve’s.

“For what?” Steve asks.

“Just…,” Bucky shrugs one shoulder and tugs their joined hands so they sit on top of his stomach. “Thank you.”

* * *

“How was he?” Sam asks, bringing two bowls of soup over to the table.

“He was…bad,” Steve sighs, picking up his spoon. “When I first got there, anyway. Towards the end, he was actually okay. We played a board game, and we laughed a lot.”

“That’s great,” Sam smiles before slurping at his soup.

“Yeah,” Steve stirs his spoon around a little before eating some. “This soup is really good, buddy.”

“Thanks. My mom’s recipe.”

“Ah, a culinary genius.”

“She certainly was that.”

A few minutes of comfortable silence pass over them. Steve is halfway through his soup when he finally mucks up enough courage to say what he wants to say.

“I think I’m going to ask Bucky to live with me,” he says without any warning or pre-emption, because apparently the best way for Steve to get anything out his mouth these days is by randomly blurting it out.

Sam frowns. “I thought he had to stay in hospital?”

“Yeah, he—he does. I mean…when he comes out.”

“Are you asking him to move in because you…you know, because of your feelings for him?”

“No,” Steve answers right away, because it’s true. That’s not what this is about. “I want to ask him because I don’t want him to be alone. I want to be there for him. I want—I want to be around him, so he knows he’s got someone. He’s got me, just like he used to.”

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t ask him, then.”

Steve sighs. “I just—I don’t know. He might not want to.”

“There’s only one way to find that out, though.”

“I know,” Steve spreads some butter on to a slice of bread. “I’m just—I don’t know what he’ll need when he comes out. It’s only another month or so until they’re considering discharging him.”

“Well, time will tell, buddy.”

“Yeah. I guess it will.”

“Did you decide when you’re gonna tell him about your feelings for him?”

“Who said I’m _going_ to?”

“Well, given your recent track record of blurting out everything you’re trying to suppress, I think it’s pretty likely?”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he agrees with a reluctant nod. “I don’t know. I think I’ll wait until he’s ready to…come home.”

“Home.”

“Yeah, I—I mean, once he finds a place to live.” But that’s not what Steve means. What he actually means is, _until Bucky is ready to come home to me. Because he’s always been my home, and maybe I’ve always been his, and that’s all any of us really want. To go home again._

“Well, I’m here, whatever you decide.”

* * *

Bucky improves after another two weeks or so. He starts talking again, telling Steve about his treatment and about the things he has to talk about during therapy; the coping skills he’s learning. He’s also been put on new meds to help with his dissociative tendencies.

Usually nowadays, when Steve sees him, he looks so much more open, his eyes brighter than Steve has seen since they first reunited. He sits up a lot and reads, or writes, or draws. Steve has been helping him learn how to draw; it’s become one of their favourite things to do, just to sit together and put pencil to paper, Steve giving Bucky pointers as they just sit and enjoy each other’s presence.

They still play a lot of board games. They can go for more complex board games and books to read, now, because Bucky’s head is finally feeling a little clearer.

“Hey,” Bucky greets Steve as soon as he walks in. He’s sitting in the chair by the window, wearing his hair in a bun at the back of his neck, his ankle propped on his opposite knee.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve smiles in response, closing the door behind him. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” Bucky answers, and the fact he sounds so genuine makes Steve’s heart soar. “How are you?”

“I’m good. Just a little tired, I guess.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine, Buck. Don’t worry,” he sits in the armchair beside Bucky’s, watching as Bucky puts his book down on the table between the chairs. “How’s your day been?”

“It’s been alright. I had therapy this morning and that was…rough. But it was good. Helpful. I…I’m finally starting to feel like me again.”

Steve can’t help the huge grin that splits his face. “That’s great, Buck.”

Bucky meets his eyes, a soft look in them and a gentle smile on his lips. He nods, keeping their gaze locked. “Yeah. It is.”

Steve wants to reach out and brush his fingers down his cheeks. Wants to run his hands over Bucky’s stubble and press their foreheads together so they can breathe in the same air.

“I think they’re gonna let me out in a few weeks,” Bucky says, sounding hopeful.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You think you’re ready for that?”

Bucky breaks their gaze. He looks down at his lap and shrugs one shoulder, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I don’t know. I—I think I am? Yeah. I think I am. The doctors say I won’t ever feel entirely ready; that it’s going to be a leap of faith to leave here.”

“Yeah, that’s understandable,” Steve says softly.

Bucky looks up at him for a minute but then his eyes go back down again. He’s swirling patterns in the fabric of the armchair with his index finger. “I think I’m ready, though,” he says, and his voice is so quiet. “I—when I came in here, I didn’t realise how much I had to work on. But now, I—I still get nightmares, and still can’t sleep, and I still panic sometimes but I don’t…I don’t feel like I need to be constantly watched. I don’t feel…as _dangerous_ anymore.”

Steve can’t help it. He has to reach out and take Bucky’s hand in his, even if the closest hand is his metal one. The metal is cold against Steve’s skin, but Bucky gives his hand a squeeze, and it feels like he’s squeezing Steve’s heart too.

“That’s amazing, Buck,” Steve all but breathes. “You’re not dangerous.”

“I don’t always believe that,” he admits, “but I feel that more than I used to.”

“I, uh…,” Steve clears his throat and looks away. “I wanted to ask you something, Bucky.”

“Yeah? Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Steve says before he worries. “Yeah, everything’s alright. I just…wondered if you’d thought about where you’re going to stay after you leave here?”

Bucky’s face goes a little blank. He blinks, and looks as though he hadn’t even thought about it. Steve sees his eyes widen, sees the slight panic in his eyes, and is quick to try and make him feel better.

“You can stay with me, if you like,” he says hastily, “I mean—you can live with me. I—I have a guest room.”

Bucky looks up at Steve from under his eyelashes. His face is unreadable. “I…I appreciate the offer…,”

“I don’t want you to think you have to be alone.”

“I—thank you, Steve, but…,” Bucky shakes his head, suddenly very withdrawn and quiet. Steve hates it. He wants to go back to two minutes ago when they were talking about how much progress Bucky has made; how he finally has his life back.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Steve says weakly, feeling disappointed and like that’s a little bit of a lie. “It’s your choice.”

Bucky looks surprised by those words. It takes Steve a minute to work out why: it’s because he hasn’t been able to make his own choices in a very long time, and he's still getting used to it.

Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand. “You don’t have to give me an answer right away. It’s okay. Just think about it for a while.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to, Steve,” Bucky finally looks at him, but his face is tentative and he’s biting on his bottom lip. “I just…I’m hard work.”

“So am I,” Steve tries for some light humour, “always have been. You managed to keep me in check.”

Bucky chuckles. “No, I mean…I’m _a lot_ of work. I don’t want to have to subject you to that.”

“You’re not ‘subjecting’ me to anything, Bucky,” Steve says, his voice gentle but trembling a little. “You’re—” Steve struggles around his words a little, because he hasn’t said these ones in almost eight decades. “You’re my best friend, Buck,” _and I hope one day you’ll be more than that_ , he doesn’t say. “You’re my best friend. I’m here for you. You won’t be a burden.”

Bucky’s looking down at his lap again. “I wake up in the middle of the night screaming,” he admits, his voice tiny and shaky. “I have panic attacks every day. I…sometimes I stay awake all night.”

“Bucky,” Steve says softly. “None of that is putting me off this idea, you know that, right? If that’s what you’re trying to do, then it’s failing.”

Bucky chuckles, bringing up his hand to wipe away a single tear. “You’re way too optimistic.”

“So they keep telling me.”

He’s shaking his head, trying to resist a smile. Steve squeezes his hand, and he squeezes back.

“Just think about it,” Steve says gently. “You don’t have to give me an answer now. And there’s no pressure.”

Bucky nods. “Okay.”

“Your nightmares or panic attacks or _anything_ you have to deal with do not and will never make me not want to be there for you. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs and looks back in to Steve’s eyes, his own eyes watery. “Okay.”

 

A week and a half passes. They don’t talk about the idea of Bucky living with Steve again, until one day when Steve comes in and Bucky has a small smile on his face before he’s even said hello.

“You look happy,” Steve comments with a smile.

“Yeah,” Bucky stands up from his place on his bed and stands right in front of Steve. “They’re letting me out in a week.”

“Oh, Bucky!” Steve leans in without thinking first and wraps him in a tight hug, only thinking he might not have _wanted_ a hug when it’s too late. But just as he’s about to pull away, Bucky holds on tighter to Steve and buries his face in his neck.

“I’m so proud of you,” Steve says softly. “You’ve come so far, Buck. You’ve come _so far._ ”

“Thank you,” Bucky laughs. He pulls away, but lightly holds on to Steve’s hands. “I was, um…thinking.”

“About what?”

“About…what we talked about a couple weeks back. About…me living with you?”

“The offer still stands,” Steve answers his unspoken question.

Bucky’s lips twitch in to a small smile. “Are you sure? I—I want you to know that I’m just…it won’t be easy. I’m not easy. I’ll try and look after myself as much as I can, I—I’ll try not to get in your way…,”

“Hey,” Steve cuts him off, bringing his hand up to cup Bucky’s cheek, so softly he’s barely even touching him. “You don’t need to warn me. It’s okay, Bucky. You don’t have to do this on your own.”

Bucky’s smile grows, and so does Steve’s.

* * *

Bucky has another bad week a few days later. He has to stay in the hospital for another month and a half before he finally feels ready – as ready as he’ll ever be – to leave the hospital and live independently from that safe, predictable and familiar environment.

Steve checks he’s sure he’s ready so much that eventually Bucky just rolls his eyes, holding back a fond smile, as his answer.

He moves in to Steve’s apartment, and it feels strange at first; to be living together.

But Steve cooks pizza on their first night, and all of a sudden the strangeness melts away. They’re sitting there, talking about light-hearted things over a big fresh pizza, acting like no time has passed since 1945. It’s like nothing has changed. It’s just the two of them, like it always was, and the look in Bucky’s eyes might be a little sadder and Steve might be a lot bigger, but they’re still Steve and Bucky. At least, that’s what it feels like right now as they sit at the little dining table in Steve’s kitchen.

But it's at night when they’re reminded how much truly _has_ changed since they were young.

Steve can’t sleep. He’s too busy thinking about the fact that Bucky is down the hall. And there’s something about night time that always makes the bad stuff seem bigger. He can’t stop thinking about all Bucky’s been through, how strong he is, and how much Steve is absolutely in love with the strong, brave, fearless man Bucky is and always has been.

There’s a noise coming from down the hall. Steve frowns, focusing on it, realising it’s coming from Bucky’s room. He starts to sit up and listen even closer, and discovers the sound of a mattress squeaking and sheets being ruffled. Then there’s a _voice_ , and it’s Bucky, and Steve suddenly remembers Bucky telling him about his nightmares.

Steve is out of his bed before he can think. He runs down the hall, only to stop behind Bucky’s door, wondering if it’s the best thing to suddenly go running in or whether he should be a bit gentler. Bucky’s moaning now, murmuring out pained “no!”s and screams of agony. Steve feels his heart wrenching in his chest.

Suddenly, the screams stop, and now all Steve can hear is Bucky panting. He’s awake.

Steve knocks softly on the door. “Bucky?” He asks, voice gentle. When there’s no reply, he carefully pushes the door open just a little bit, so he can look inside. Bucky’s sitting on the edge of his bed, gripping the mattress with his hands, his head hanging low.

“Buck?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky grits out. “I’m awake now. Go back to sleep.”

“You’re not fine,” Steve steps in a little further, letting the door swing open on its own.

“Just leave it, Steve,” Bucky gets up, walking in to his bathroom. “I’m fine. This isn’t anything new to me.”

But Steve sees Bucky's hand tremble as he reaches for the light switch, and his head is still hanging low, and his shirt is clinging to his back with sweat that’s dripping down the back of his neck.

Steve watches as Bucky splashes cold water on his face. Listens as the faucet runs and squeaks as Bucky switches it off, shaking off his hand and reaching for a towel to dry his face with.

“Bucky,” Steve says softly. “I’m here for you.”

“I can manage on my own. Seriously, Steve, go back to sleep.” He grabs the hair band on his wrist and ties his hair up with his still-trembling hand. Steve hears the gentle hum of machinery as his metal arm moves.

“Bucky, you don’t _have_ to manage on your own,” Steve says gently, trying to hold back the urge to cry as he watches Bucky move towards his bed. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’m fine.”

“Bucky—”

“Don’t you get it?” Bucky suddenly looks up and meets Steve’s eyes, his own eyes wide and bloodshot, and there are tear stains lining his red cheeks. “This is what I warned you about! I told you this would happen, Steve, I—I _knew_ this would happen. This isn’t even the worst kind of nightmare that I have. I said this would happen. This is why I should be on my own.”

“And I told you,” Steve keeps his voice level and soft, “that I knew about your nightmares, and you didn’t have to fight them on your own. You don’t have to fight anything on your own. Not anymore.”

Bucky sighs through his nose. He looks down at the floor, runs his metal hand through his hair and clenches the other at his side. “Steve…,” he doesn’t finish his sentence.

“Bucky.”

Bucky looks up at him without moving his head. “You’re not gonna give up, are you? Not gonna go back to sleep and leave me?”

“No,” Steve says, and then, because it's important Bucky has a choice, “I mean—if you really want me to go, I will. It’s…it’s up to you.”

Bucky’s silent for a minute. He doesn’t break Steve’s gaze. “You’re a stubborn punk, you know that?”

Steve smiles, relief flooding his chest. “I know.”

He sighs again and runs his hands over his face. “I’m sorry I woke you up,”

“I wasn’t asleep.”

“Why? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just…I don’t know.” He can’t exactly say _I was pining over you because I’m in love with you_. He clears his throat. “Do you need anything? A drink? Some food? I can—I can stay up with you, if you don’t want to go back to sleep.”

“No, I—I’m supposed to try and fall back asleep after a nightmare. Not always, if I really can’t, but if I possibly can, I’m supposed to. Apparently it’s meant to break the fear cycle.”

“You don’t sound like much of a believer,” Steve points out, smirking lightly.

Bucky chuckles, sitting back down on the edge of his bed. “I don’t know, I guess I just haven’t seen many results so far.”

“Well, maybe it’ll just take time. More time, I mean.”

“Really, Steve, I’m okay. You go back to bed.” He doesn't sound even remotely like that's what he wants. He's not even trying to sound like that, really.

“Are you feeling up to trying to sleep again?”

Bucky thinks for a moment. Runs his hand through his hair again. Bites his bottom lip. “Honestly? I—I don’t think I could. Not yet. My, uh…my heart is still kinda, um, beating really fast.”

“Okay,” Steve says. “Do you want me to stay with you? We can just talk. I don’t mind.”

“I…you don’t have to.”

“I’m not asking if I have to. I’m asking if you _want_ me to.”

Bucky sighs, then looks up at Steve, a small, tentative smile on his face. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Steve smiles a little, too. “Not at all. I’ll sit with you, and we can just talk.” He moves so he’s against the wall and sits on the floor, watching as Bucky moves so he’s sitting up against his headboard.

They talk. They talk for what must be an hour, talking about a combination of lighter things and deeper, darker stuff. Bucky’s lying on his side, now, facing Steve, and there’s a small little smile on his face as they remember a party they went to when they were teenagers that didn't turn out all that great. Steve leans his head back against the wall, arms resting on his knees that are drawn up to his chest, and finds himself smiling just because Bucky is.

A small beat of comfortable silence passes over them. Bucky is looking at Steve; he can feel his eyes on him as he looks towards the bathroom.

“You can come and sit over here, you know,” Bucky’s voice is tiny and tentative.

Steve looks over at him, frowning softly.

“On the bed, I mean,” Bucky clarifies. “You don’t have to sit on the floor.”

“I—are you sure? I don’t want to, like, invade your personal space.”

Bucky chuckles. “I spent the better part of my time in hospital holding your hand or holding on to your arm, Steve.”

“That’s true,” Steve laughs lightly.

“Come on,” Bucky turns around so he’s sitting up again, and pats the space beside him. “Come get comfortable. That is, um—if you still want to stay with me.”

“Of course I do,” he answers right away, maybe a little too quickly. “I—I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

The small smile that grows on Bucky’s face and the happy look in his eyes make Steve smile, too. He carefully climbs on to the bed beside Bucky and sits up, a foot or so away from him.

They talk some more, but mostly just sit in silence, Bucky’s hand tracing patterns in his sheets. Steve tilts his head to look at him, and the streetlights streaming through the windows cast beautiful shadows on Bucky’s face, making his stubble look darker than it looks in daylight.

Eventually, after taking hold of Steve’s hand, Bucky drifts off to sleep, and Steve thinks it might be creepy to watch him, but he just can’t help it. He’s so beautiful. And he looks so peaceful. And Steve can feel his pulse under his fingertips, and the steady rhythm of it sends him off to sleep soon, too.

* * *

The next few nights happen pretty much the same way, and although Steve is feeling it a little in his energy levels, he doesn’t really mind. He would rather stay up with Bucky talking until 3am and then fall asleep sitting up than leave Bucky alone. And, besides, it’s _good_ getting to talk to him. Even though his hand is always shaking after his nightmares, and Steve wants nothing more than to reach out and take it all away.

 

Bucky isn’t going to bed tonight, though.

Steve notices when he’s getting ready to go to bed himself – even though he’s planning on going to Bucky’s room in an hour anyway, to talk away the night – that Bucky is just sitting there, eyes still on the TV. He has dark circles under his eyes, and his whole body screams exhaustion. But he doesn't seem to have any intention of sleeping.

“Buck?” Steve asks, walking in to the dim light of the living room. “You going to bed soon?”

“Yeah, I—well. I just thought I’d…stay up a little longer.”

Steve knows he’s lying. “Bucky.”

“Steve.”

“Come on, Buck, I know you’re trying to avoid sleeping.”

“I just—thought it might let you get some sleep. I feel bad you’ve been staying up with me every night since I got here.”

“Bucky,” Steve says softly, sitting down beside him. “I don’t mind.”

“I know, I just—I don’t know. Honestly, Steve? I fall asleep so much better when it’s—when you’re in the room with me. I don’t know what it is, but I just—maybe it’s because I was always alone…back _then_. And somehow, when you’re with me…I know I’m not alone, even when I’m asleep. I don’t sleep _perfectly_ , and I still have nightmares, but I just. Don’t wake up screaming. Not as often, anyway. I don't feel as completely terrified, because I know you're there."

Steve’s heart feels like someone’s squeezing it. He nods understandingly. “Exactly,” he says, “and that’s why I don’t mind staying with you.”

“But this is why I didn’t want to burden you by living together.”

Steve resists the urge to good-heartedly roll his eyes. “Bucky, come on. We’ve talked about this.”

Bucky chuckles tiredly. Runs a hand over his face. “Yeah. I know.”

There’s a beat of silence. Steve is trying to subtly look at Bucky, who’s still staring at the TV. The changing light of the screen is reflecting against his face. Steve wants to reach out and trace the highlights and the shadows that it casts.

He spends a minute or two working out how to ask this without it sounding weird.

“Do you think…it might help if you, um…sleep with me?” Steve asks, then immediately realises how that sounds and he cringes. Clearing his throat, he watches as Bucky’s lips quirk up in to a little smirk.

He turns to face Steve. “Steve, if you wanted to get me in bed, all you had to do was ask. You didn’t have to use my nightmares as an excuse. I would’a said yes.”

Steve splutters, heat rising to his cheeks, and he stammers, trying to find words. “I—I didn’t mean it like that, Bucky, I swear—”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. Steve stops talking long enough to notice the amused glint in Bucky’s eyes, and he breathes a sigh of relief he hopes is remotely subtle.

“Oh. You’re joking.”

Bucky chuckles. “Yeah, Steve. I’m joking.”

Steve looks at him again, and Bucky’s just looking at him in that same fond way he does a lot, his eyes smiling more than his mouth.

Steve lets out a little chuckle, scrubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “I was worried you thought I was actually taking advantage of your nightmares to try and get you in to bed.”

“Come on, Steve, I know you’d never do that.”

 _I would'a said yes._ It's going to be tough not to wonder if Bucky meant that part of whether that was still part of the joke.

Steve forces his mind to pull away from that thought. “So…what do you think? About, um, sharing my bed? I just figure it might help you fall asleep more peacefully, which might mean you don’t start one of those really bad nightmares?”

Bucky thinks about it for a moment. He starts to nod. “Yeah, I…it might work.”

“Yeah? Only if you’re comfortable with that, Bucky, I—I can stay on the floor, or grab an air mattress, or something. If you just want me in the same room.”

“I mean, you’ve been sleeping on my bed for days now. It’s not gonna be much different if we start the night off like that, right?”

Steve smiles and nods. “Right.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I’m sure,” Steve stands up again, running a hand through his hair. “Come on, let’s try and sleep. It’s getting late.”

Bucky gets up, too, a little reluctantly, and follows Steve in to his room before realising he needs to get his pyjamas, which are in his own room down the hall. He leaves briefly to change, then comes back with his toothbrush and a hair band on his wrist, as always, and nips in to the bathroom.

Steve waits for him to come back in before turning out the light. When he comes back, he shuffles towards the bed, running a hand through his lovely hair. Steve watches the muscles move in his arm as he does so, and Steve swallows, trying to get a hold of himself. He’s only just realised he’s about to share a bed with Bucky. The man he’s in love with.

Yeah, this shouldn’t make Steve blush at _all_.

“Um, are you okay on that side?” Steve asks. It’s a superfluous question, really. He’s just trying to fill the silence.

“Yeah,” Bucky pulls back the sheets and climbs under. Steve does the same, lying on his side to face Bucky, trying not to stare too hard for too long.

“Night, Steve.” Bucky says softly, closing his eyes, clearly much more chill about this than Steve is.

“Night, Buck.” Steve turns away so he can’t watch Bucky while he falls asleep. But he stays awake, making sure Bucky is asleep before he slips under too.

He wakes a few hours later to Bucky making light little noises in his sleep. He’s not screaming or trembling or crying, so Steve isn’t sure whether he needs to wake him up or not. Bucky is breathing a little heavy, though. He waits for a moment, listening out for any more noise slipping through Bucky’s lips.

Instead, though, he hears the shuffling of sheets. Then Bucky’s arm is around Steve’s waist, his face nuzzling in to the back of his neck, and he’s holding on so tightly.

Steve tenses, at first, waiting for Bucky to say something. He doesn’t. _Is he still asleep?_

“Buck?” Steve whispers, loud enough so he’ll hear it if he’s awake but not loud enough that it’ll wake him.

He gets no response. Carefully, he places his hand on top of Bucky’s. Bucky’s pulse is racing under Steve’s fingers, but it’s slowing gradually, and he’s no longer breathing fast.

Steve figures this is helping Bucky’s nightmare, so he doesn’t protest.

In fact, he falls back to sleep, and neither of them wake up until the sun starts streaming through the drawn curtains.

 

Bucky wakes up first.

When his eyelids flutter open and he’s had enough time to register the fact that he actually _slept_ _through the whole fucking night_ , albeit slightly fitfully, he takes in his position and freezes.

Steve stirs under his arm. He turns his head to face Bucky, who instantly pulls his arm away and moves to the other side of the bed.

“I’m sorry, Steve, I—I did that in my sleep, I didn’t mean to, um…hold you like that, I’m so sorry—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve says gently. Bucky can’t even look him in the eyes. He literally spooned Steve in his sleep without consent. Yeah, Bucky didn’t _mean_ to do it, per say, not consciously, but he did it. And he didn’t ask.

“No, I—I didn’t ask, Steve. Consent is important, I should have asked—I shouldn’t have just done that…,”

“Bucky, you were asleep,” Steve’s voice is so soft. “It’s okay. It helped you sleep through the night—and I slept through, too.”

“I…,”

“Seriously,” Steve reaches out and tentatively places his hand over Bucky’s. Bucky subconsciously relaxes at the touch. “It’s okay. I promise.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky rubs his sleepy eyes and sits up properly in bed. “I knew I’d make a fool of myself.”

“Bucky, I’ve known you longer than anyone. We’ve been through a shit ton together. You really think a little bit of subconscious cuddling is gonna bother me?”

“But I didn’t ask.”

Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, look, I was awake when you did it. Okay? You were having a nightmare, and you moved in and put your arm around me. I didn’t mind even if you’d meant to do it. And as soon as you did, you stopped panicking. And that was even more reason not to stop you. Okay? I didn’t mind one bit. I—um. Liked it.”

Bucky could swear he can see Steve’s cheeks flushing red. Now Steve is the one who can’t make eye contact. Bucky’s lips spread in to a small smile.

“Thank you, Steve,” he says quietly, “for being so understanding about…well, you know. Everything.”

“Of course,” Steve looks back at him now, but his cheeks are still red. There’s a new look in his eyes, something soft, warm. Bucky wonders if it’s how he looks at Steve. It’s certainly how he _feels_ about Steve. “You’re my best friend, Buck. And I…,” his voice fades off. He stops his sentence short, as if he’s thinking about what he wants to say before he says it aloud. And then, he speaks again, but he’s looking away. “You’re my best friend.”

Bucky smiles. “You’re mine, too.” And then, taking a breath, trying to lighten the mood a little bit because he’s this close to admitting his feelings, “so, what d’you say we celebrate my slightly less terrible nightmare last night with some pancakes?”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah,” he says, “that sounds good.”

* * *

So Bucky’s kind of in love with Steve.

Obviously. He thinks he always has been, to be honest.

And now they’re sharing a bed every night, and Bucky’s subconscious seems to have taken to holding Steve in the night as they sleep. And every morning when Bucky apologises, Steve says it’s fine and that he actually _liked it_. It fills Bucky’s heart with a tiny shred of hope that maybe, just maybe, Steve feels the same.

His brain is not as it used to be, he knows that, and every day is a fight in his recovery to reclaim his life; but it doesn’t stop him from feeling these things. He's still Bucky, after all. It doesn’t stop him from wanting to look at Steve’s face always, run his hands over those lovely cheekbones, through his hair. It doesn’t stop his heart from swelling with love every time Steve laughs or looks at him in that soft way he likes to do so much.

“Hey, Bucky? I’m going to the store. You want anything?”

Bucky looks up from his place on the couch, Steve’s voice breaking him out of his thoughts about how much he loves Steve’s voice. _Oh, the irony_.

“Huh?”

“I’m going to the store. Is there anything you want me to grab?”

“Oh, um—some apple juice?”

“I thought you were all for the orange juice at the moment.”

Bucky shrugs. “I wanna try and broaden my horizons.”

Steve smirks. “Okay.”

“Actually, scratch that, orange juice is fucking good. Orange juice, please.”

Steve laughs like he knew Bucky would cave. “Alright. I won’t be long. Did you wanna come?”

“Oh, um…no, thanks. I’m not really up to that today.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Just as long as I stay home.”

“Alright,” Steve walks over behind the sofa and reaches out to brush some pieces of hair from Bucky’s face. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

Bucky smiles up at him, probably looking ridiculously smitten, and nods.

“I won’t be long.” Steve promises, offering one last smile before he walks out the front door. It closes softly behind him, because Steve knows Bucky doesn’t get on well with sudden loud noises.

Bucky is still smiling to himself when he turns around and puts the TV on.

* * *

It becomes a habit after a few weeks to curl up and cuddle together before they even fall asleep.

They lie together, tracing patterns on each other’s skin, talking about their days before drifting off to sleep.

Bucky’s nightmares haven’t stopped. They’re manageable most nights, because he knows Steve is close and he’s not alone, but they’re still pretty awful. And some nights, they’re beyond awful. It’s just a natural part of his recovery, and he knows that, and he also knows that the nightmares may never completely leave him.

After a particularly bad one that had Bucky hyperventilating, Steve brushing his hand over his knuckles, not getting too close so Bucky didn’t get claustrophobic as Steve helped him come down from his panic attack, they’re sitting in the kitchen at 3am drinking hot chocolate.

Bucky’s hand is still trembling.

Steve reaches out across the table and gently takes it in his, smoothing his thumb over Bucky’s.

“Steve,” Bucky says, so quietly it’s almost a breath. His voice is hoarse from screaming, and there are pieces of his hair clinging to his face with the sweat on his brow. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Steve’s voice is so soft.

Bucky glances up at him for a minute but can’t hold his gaze; his gentle, lovely gaze. It’s too much. “I’m sorry for another bad night. I know it must get too much for you as much as me.”

“It’s okay,” Steve sounds so genuine. “It’s okay, Buck. You know that.”

“I just…,” Bucky runs his metal hand through his hair. “I feel so bad, I—I keep you up like this so often, and I—I promised you I could handle myself but you still have to help me so much, and you _do_ help, you help a lot, but I feel so bad—”

“Hey,” Steve gently cuts him off and carefully reaches out across the table to cup Bucky’s cheek in his hand. “It’s okay. Breathe.”

Bucky stops talking at the touch and just stares at Steve, his mouth open as he breathes heavily. They hold each other’s gaze for a while, Steve’s thumb rhythmically tracing lines on Bucky’s cheekbone, helping him count out his breathing to come back down from his rising panic.

Steve’s eyes are so pretty, even in the dull light of the kitchen. His skin is so pretty too. And his hair. And everything about him.

And he’s sitting here, his hand on Bucky’s cheek, looking at him so softly and tenderly that it makes Bucky want to cry. Bucky loves him. He _loves him_. It’s 3am, and Bucky can’t think of a reason not to tell him.

And then Bucky’s leaning in across the table, pressing his slightly parted lips to Steve’s. It takes Steve by surprise, at first, and initially as Steve freezes up against him, Bucky thinks he’s got it wrong; that Steve doesn’t want this, that he doesn’t feel the same.

But then, suddenly, Steve is kissing him back, relaxing in to this, his lips opening against Bucky’s, and the hand on Bucky’s cheek is sliding back in to his hair to hold the back of his head.

Bucky reaches up with his hand, still slightly trembling, and tentatively touches Steve’s face, running the backs of his fingers down Steve’s cheek. He can’t believe this is happening. He’s kissing Steve. Steve is kissing him. They’re breathing in to each other’s lungs, and Steve is slipping his tongue against Bucky’s, and now Steve has both of his hands tangled in Bucky’s hair.

For a moment, Bucky worries that this is just the result of it being 3am; their emotions are heightened, things are blurry and intense, and they’re both tired. Maybe Steve doesn’t actually feel this way about Bucky. Maybe this is just because it’s the middle of the night.

Steve pulls away, keeping his face up close to Bucky’s; so close he can feel his breath ghosting across his lips. Bucky wants to lean in and kiss him again.

He licks his lips and pulls back just enough to be able to look in to Steve’s eyes.

“Steve…,” Bucky lets his hand slide back in to Steve’s hair. “I…I need to tell you…,” His words fade off.

“Yeah, Buck?” Steve asks, his voice husky and gentle.

Bucky takes a deep breath, mustering up enough courage to be able to meet Steve’s gaze once more. And, when he speaks, his voice is so quiet, he worries that Steve won’t be able to hear him. “I love you, Steve.” He all but breathes. "I'm...in love with you."

Steve’s breath catches in his throat. Bucky freezes, his heart racing, terrified that Steve is going to pull away and say he doesn’t feel the same, and this moment will be just that. A moment. Nothing more.

But then Steve’s lips release a tiny little smile, and he tightens his grip in Bucky’s hair. “I love you too, Bucky.”

Bucky smiles. He wants to lean back in and kiss him again, but he wants to stroke his thumb down Steve’s cheek even more and take in the look in his eyes. “You—you do?”

Steve laughs. “Yeah, Buck,” his hands come back to Bucky’s face. “’Course I do.”

“I…,” Bucky doesn’t know what to say, so he leans back in to kiss him. Steve pulls away but only for a moment as he walks around to Bucky’s side of the table, crouching down in front of where he’s sitting so they can kiss easier. Bucky leans down and captures Steve's lips with his own, and he can’t help but sigh in to it, because this is _actually happening_.

He wants to say _I love you, I love you, I love you_ , over and over again until his voice turns in to just a breath, but Steve’s tongue is back in his mouth and his hands are in Bucky’s hair, and really, now’s not the time for talking.

* * *

It’s only been a few weeks since they first kissed, but they’ve settled in to a routine as if they’ve always been together in this way. They make each other breakfast, cuddle on the sofa, spend mornings in bed just holding each other and kissing. They talk about everything; the good, the bad and the ugly. Bucky puts all of his trust in Steve, and Steve feels so honoured that after everything he's been through, Bucky still trusts him with every thought in his head. He trusts Steve with the vulnerabilities of his heart and mind. Steve feels so lucky to be the one who knows Bucky the most. To be the one he's closest to.

Every night they curl up in bed and hold each other like they’re the most valuable things on earth. Their relationship is deep, intimate, close. They settled in to it straight away as if it’s been this way forever. (Maybe, in some way, it has.)

 

“Are you sure about this?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah.” He sits down at the end of their bed, taking hold of the hem of his shirt. Taking a deep breath, he slowly pulls the fabric up and over his head, feeling his hand begin to tremble already.

It’s not that he doesn’t want Steve to see his scars; the scars on his shoulder, specifically. He’s just never _really_ shown them to anyone before. Not through his own choice. And they’re something he’s not necessarily ashamed of, but sometimes, he can’t even look at himself in the mirror without a shirt on.

It brings back too many feelings, memories, thoughts. It’s just too much.

But he wants Steve to see this part of him. Trusts Steve with something he holds so close; something he feels this vulnerable about.

Bucky clenches his jaw and looks away from Steve as Steve’s eyes come down to his shoulder. Steve’s breath catches in his throat at the sight. Bucky can’t bring himself to look at him.

Steve steps closer. Tentatively, he crouches down in front of him and holds out his hand. “Can I…touch?”

Bucky nods.

Steve’s fingers trace across Bucky’s collarbone, and he instinctively jerks away as he feels the touch on his raised skin.

“Sorry,” Steve says, bringing his hand away immediately.

“No, it’s okay,” Bucky says. “It was just a gut reaction. I’m okay. I promise.” He takes a hold of Steve’s hand and brings it back up to his shoulder, laying Steve’s fingers out over his scars. “It’s okay.”

Steve watches his face from the side. “Okay.” He says, and his voice is almost a whisper.

But Steve’s hand doesn’t move. Bucky can feel his eyes burning in to him from the side, so he turns to face his blue eyes and frowns softly. Steve slowly leans in, reaching up with his other hand to cup Bucky’s face, then presses their lips together in a gentle kiss.

When he pulls away, he looks in to Bucky’s eyes, and his gaze is so soft and serious. “Are you sure?”

“Steve,” Bucky says, “I’m sure. I promise.”

“Okay,” Steve breathes, leaving another little kiss on Bucky’s lips before his eyes move back down again to look at Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky watches his face as his fingertips lightly graze over the scars, the raised lines that still sometimes burn in the night. The doctors in the hospital mostly fixed the botched job that Hydra did on him, but it’s not perfect.

“Am I hurting you?” Steve asks softly, running his hands gently over Bucky’s ribs, near where the metal of his arm joins his skin. Bucky just shakes his head, still looking down at the floor. “Oh, Bucky,” Steve whispers, and Bucky looks across at him to find tears on the edges of his eyes. “Bucky.”

“Steve?”

“It’s okay, I’m okay, I just—” He draws in a shaky, deep breath, and as he blinks a tear falls on to his cheek. “You’ve been through so much.” He leans in and brushes his lips against Bucky’s collar bone, where the worst of the scars begin.

Bucky moves his hand up to cup the back of Steve’s head, letting his fingers settle in the short hair there. He moves his head down to kiss the side of Steve’s.

“It’s okay,” Bucky whispers.

“It’s not okay,” Steve shakes his head, resting his forehead against the cold metal of Bucky’s shoulder. “It’s not okay, what happened.”

Bucky sighs through his nose. “I know.”

Steve sniffs again and presses more gentle kisses to Bucky’s scars. Bucky can feel the tears on Steve’s cheeks. He wants to reach out to him and tell him that it’s okay, it’s okay, everything’s okay; but, really, he would be lying. And Steve would know he’s lying.

Steve runs his hand all down Bucky’s ribs, his waist, down to his hips, as he kisses across every scar on that side of his body. Bucky shivers, letting himself relax in to his touch; his warmth and his presence. Steve’s still crying, and there are tears on the edges of Bucky’s eyes now, too, but he refuses to let them fall.

“Steve,” Bucky whispers.

Steve lets out a sob and immediately brings his hand up to cover his mouth. “I’m sorry, I—I don’t mean to cry this much but I just—I’m crying for everything. All you’ve been through, all we’ve both been through. Our lives then; our lives now. It’s just—a lot.”

Bucky nods, running his hand over Steve’s hair in an attempt to comfort him. “I know.”

Steve looks back to Bucky’s scars and rests a kind hand atop them, gently smoothing his thumb over Bucky’s collarbone. "And I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much. I’m just—crying for _everything_.”

“I know,” Bucky says again, because he _does_ know; he knows exactly what Steve means. And when Steve lets out another sob, and then another, and then another, Bucky gives in and scoops Steve up in to his arms, holding him in so tight, letting him sit on his lap. “I know.”

Steve presses his face in to the side of Bucky’s neck. He cries for a while, shaky hands holding on to Bucky like he’s a lifeline. Maybe he is.

And Bucky holds him, trying so desperately not to cry too, running his hand through Steve’s hair and pressing kisses to his head.

When Steve’s sobs slow and all that’s left is little gasps, he pulls back just a little so he can look in to Bucky’s eyes. His hand comes out and cups Bucky’s cheek, thumb smoothing over his cheekbone.

“You know, you’re beautiful,” he says simply, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Bucky smiles, too, wiping Steve’s tears from his cheeks.

“Like, really, _seriously_ beautiful,” Steve continues, his eyes roaming back down to Bucky’s scars, and he shakes his head. “And these scars…,” he starts, tears choking up in his throat again, “they were born of something horrible. Something awful. Something I wish I could take away more than anything. But—” he brings his fingertips back to Bucky’s skin and gently runs them over the seam between his skin and his arm. “But they’re beautiful. They’re a part of you, now. And—and to think that you see them as ugly or something to be ashamed of…I…I don’t want you to think that,” He sniffs. “I love you, and I want you to know that I think you’re hot as fuck, and I don’t want you being insecure about _this_ ,” he leans in to kiss the metal of his arm, “not on my part. Okay? You don’t have to be embarrassed. I’m not saying your self esteem is entirely based on what _I_ think of you, of course not, but—but that’s how I feel about it. About you. You’re so beautiful. You’re…you’re _perfect_. Okay?”

Bucky smiles. “Okay,” he says softly, because he’s not sure what else to say. And then, smiling wider, tears coming back to his eyes, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Steve leans in and places a soft kiss on Bucky’s lips, leaving his hand on Bucky’s collar bone.

 

And after that day, Bucky starts spending a lot more time at home without his shirt on. All this time he’s been too nervous about his scars; worried that they’ll upset Steve or be something he can’t bring himself to look at. (The idea of Steve not wanting to look at him is one of the worst things Bucky could imagine. He thrives off of the way Steve looks at him.)

But now Steve has seen Bucky’s scars; touched them, kissed them, reassured Bucky that they don’t make him uncomfortable. And Bucky doesn’t have to worry about it anymore.

(Steve is eternally grateful because _Bucky just walks around shirtless_. What a gift.)

* * *

“No,” Bucky murmurs, nuzzling his nose further in to Steve’s neck and holding him tighter. “Don’t get up yet.”

Steve chuckles. “I have to. I’ve got a meeting at ten.”

“What time is it now?”

“Eight.”

“That’s plenty of time,” Bucky presses his face against Steve’s skin.

“Plenty of time for what?”

“Cuddling.”

“Bucky, babe, believe me, I’d love nothing more,” he leans in and kisses Bucky’s forehead. “But I have to shower and eat and be there early to talk to Tony.”

Bucky sighs. “Fine,” he untangles his limbs from Steve’s and pouts, his face half pressed in to the pillow. “I suppose I’ll manage without you.”

Steve climbs out of bed and chuckles. He turns back to Bucky and leans down to kiss him softly. “If I’m showered in ten minutes and you feel like getting up, we can cuddle and watch some TV together while I eat. If you want.”

“Ten minutes?” Bucky complains. “Too sleepy.”

“Okay,” Steve laughs, kissing him again. “I’ll come back to say goodbye before I leave.”

He comes back in a few times to get dressed and grab some things. Bucky is drifting in and out of sleep; Steve catches him watching with a soft smile as he pulls on his shirt. Bucky just has one eye open but it makes Steve smile back and want to climb in to bed with him and cuddle all day.

He comes back in a while later and walks towards Bucky, who's awake now but still sleepy and cocooned in the covers. Only his face from his lips and up is showing, his hair all bunched up on top of his head against the pillow. It's the cutest thing Steve thinks he's ever seen.

"I'm going now," he says gently. "You be OK here?"

Bucky nods. "Mhmm."

Steve reaches out to run his hand over Bucky's messy sleep hair. "I'll be back in a few hours."

"Mkay." Bucky smiles up at him. "Can't wait."

Steve smiles in return, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Bucky's lips. "Love you."

Bucky nuzzles his nose against Steve's. "Love you too, Steve." His voice is slurred and sleepy and Steve's heart swells with love.

He leans in to kiss him one last time. Life, with Bucky, is _good._

Not easy. Not simple. But _good._

**Author's Note:**

> check out the next fic if you wanna! it's a little more domestic now they're together.  
> i really hope you enjoyed this fic! please let me know if you did, and leave a good ol' kudos if you can <3 thank you for reading <3 
> 
> love :* xxx


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